


Can You Forgive Me?

by DeathlySilent13



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2018-12-24 03:34:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12004134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathlySilent13/pseuds/DeathlySilent13
Summary: After the Battle of Hogwarts, Draco flees all company and goes into a self-imposed exile, unable to face anyone for his part in the battle. He hates himself, hates his father, and hates that he can't meet one particular set of glowing emerald eyes. Draco wants so much to ask for forgiveness.....but can he get it?





	1. Accidental Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, the standard disclaimer: I do not own these characters. I am playing in the world of Her Majesty, J.K. Rowling. I earn nothing from this fic, and claim ownership for none of it.
> 
> Second, I took a liberty in creating a perfect scenario for a hiding Draco, and I don't know if any of these places exist, ever existed, or could ever exist. This is a fan's work of fiction, so there's always wiggle room, eh? Hope you enjoy!

The Battle of Hogwarts. Everyone’s nightmare. So many lost, so many more damaged, and all for one man’s insanity. Was it worth it? He doesn’t know. There’s a lot he doesn’t know anymore. He sighs, staring at his pale reflection in the smudged mirror. His parents don’t know he’s here. He hasn’t been home since that day. The day Voldemort was finally killed. He ran away that night, never looking back. He can’t take listening to his father ranting about all who stood with… _him_. Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. He remembers seeing Hagrid walking up with his limp form, the joy on everyone’s faces when he jumped up. He himself was secretly joyous to see Harry live once more, that searing warmth after what felt like endless chill at seeing him lying so still. But it doesn’t matter now. No one knows where he is, and no one will. He can’t go back, and he can’t tell Harry…..he can’t. With a final sigh, he stands, running one hand through his platinum blonde hair before turning away.

He looks around the small cottage, one of many the Ministry still didn't know about. Death Eaters had opened such houses across most of Europe. Smaller than most had wanted, they provided meeting places where no one had been looking for them. He didn't remember who had set the idea forth, but the Dark Lord had allowed it, so heavily charmed, and heavily warded cottages were seized, wiped of Muggle influence, and kept for use whenever the Dark Lord was in the area. They made for excellent hiding spots, since most who knew their locations were now locked in Azkaban or dead. He makes a last walk through the cottage, ensuring he got all of his belongings and that it once again looked like no one had been here. Satisfied, he slings his duffel bag over his shoulder and steps outside, haunted by piercing green eyes and a school shouting a single name that he himself cannot utter.

Draco Malfoy stands with his thumb out, and it doesn’t take long. The Knight Bus comes, as it always does, and he gets on, ignoring the chattering drivers and going to a back corner. It’s late, so there are beds instead of seats. He doesn’t know where he’s going, he just goes until he feels like stopping. He’s avoided everyone he knew, unable to go back to his parents and their ilk, and no idea how to go to Potter and his friends. No apology would ever be enough, and Draco can only imagine what they must think of him for all his involvement. He never wanted all this. Murder, Death, Pain. He didn’t want it, can’t they see? Not all of this. How could he say no to his own father? He never had a choice. But he exiled himself anyway. He can’t go back.

So caught up in his own thoughts, Draco doesn’t immediately notice the figure seemingly sleeping several beds away. There’s always someone on the Knight Bus, so he ignores the lot, partially to avoid drawing attention to himself but mostly because he doesn't actually care who was riding. He tucks himself into the bed, content to ride until he felt like getting off, the blanket pulled up so far that only a brief flash of pale blonde hair is visible. Sleep is hard to chase, but he dozes fitfully, memories assailing him again. He forces his mind to stop with a distressed sigh, caught quite clearly by the figure nearby, who wasn't actually sleeping at all. The figure doesn’t move. Draco curls tighter on his chosen bed in the corner, and as he begins to finally fall into sleep, murmurs, “I’m sorry, Harry.” The figure sits up suddenly upon hearing that, the sliding of the bed startling Draco. Shocked grey eyes meet equally shocked green eyes. Draco gulps, recognizing those round spectacles without having to look for the scar. Neither of them speaks for several long minutes.

Finally, Harry breaks the silence. “Where have you been? Do you know how many people from school have been looking for you?” Draco turns his head, suddenly unable to look at Harry. “I can’t go back. Not after what I’ve done,” he finally says dejectedly. “Would you?” came the soft question, forcing Draco to look up at him again. “Not to my parents’ place,” he admits. “I’m done with them. Father hasn’t changed, even with the Dark Lord’s demise.” Understanding fills Harry as he realized what that means. Draco wouldn’t go back to the Death Eaters, but to the other side, perhaps? His side?

Draco can’t take being on the bus. Not with the one person he wants to forgive him. When the bus stops next, Draco gets off in a hurry, pausing only to pay for Harry’s route as well as his own. There was a place nearby that he could use. Most of the hideouts have been abandoned, the Death Eaters either dead or scattered now. He’ll hide there until the area is clear. He’s shaking by the time he reaches the building’s door, and so caught up in his fears of seeing Harry that he doesn’t notice the green eyes focused solely on his back.


	2. Under the Same Roof

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Standard Disclaimer: I don't own any part of this world or the characters contained therein. I'm playing in Rowling's world and do not in any way profit from it.

Draco’s head snaps up at the knock on the door. No one should be here! He grabs his wand, holding it before him as he heads to the door, afraid of finding his father’s face staring at him, full of disdain. He opens the door, and sees the one face that he fears more than his father’s. “What are you doing here?” he hisses.

Harry merely shrugs. “I followed you. You made it easy,” he replies evenly.

Draco’s eyes narrow, which only makes Harry smile. With a perfect eye roll, Draco turns, walking away and tucking his wand back into his pocket, leaving the door open. Harry steps inside, closing it behind him. The sound of the lock tumbling sets Draco’s heart to racing and he goes into the kitchen, taking a swig of firewhiskey where Harry can’t see him. He doesn’t know what to do now as he watches Harry settle into the sitting room, looking so out of place, and yet so at ease. Steeling himself behind the mask he has become so used to wearing, Draco sits across from him, hoping he looks just as at ease.

“Did you mean it?” Harry asks as soon as he settles.

Draco looks away, staring at the dark fireplace. He knows what Harry’s asking. “I had no choice. I just wanted Father to be proud of me, but I didn’t want to kill anyone. I didn’t want to see them…you…die.” Draco’s voice is soft, his shame clear. Harry doesn’t say anything for so long that Draco risks a look at his face. He doesn’t understand what he sees in Harry’s piercing green eyes. There is no condemnation.

“I understand, you know,” Harry finally says. “I never had a choice in what people expected of me. I never asked for any of it, but what else was there to do?”

Draco looks up, tears in his eyes. They aren’t that different, he thinks. Neither of them asked for their path, neither of them had a say in the demands made of them. Draco realizes that Harry really does understand. His grey eyes fill with unshed tears. “You must be the only one,” he says finally, the old bitterness back in his voice.

Harry merely shrugs. “Maybe. But they’ve never really asked, have they?”

Draco scoffs, a thought coming to him. “What the bloody hell were you doing on that Bus, Potter?” he asks, bristling when Harry laughs.

“Escaping. I’m still the Boy Who Lived, the killer of the Dark Lord. I needed a break.”

Draco merely looks at him, surprised by how easily he admits to such things. Draco himself would never speak of such thoughts. Father always hated when he showed fear. He tries to understand, he really does, but he can’t. With his father’s voice barking in his mind, he asks, “How can you say that? You should never admit such things.”

Harry shakes his head, reminding himself again that the skin-crawling Lucius raised Draco. “True friends don’t look down upon you for needing help, they stand up to help you,” he explains slowly.

As he tells Draco this, it occurs to Draco that that is precisely what he’s doing here. Draco nearly laughs at the notion of Harry asking him to be his friend. He sits quietly while Harry’s eyes glaze over as he gets lost in thought. He doesn’t know what thoughts race under that silky brown hair, but he remains quiet, using Harry’s distractedness to study him up close.

“You should come with me tomorrow,” Harry finally says. “I’m supposed to have lunch with Luna. She’ll listen to you, and I bet she’ll get why you did what you did.”

Draco merely looks as him, remembering the strange girl with her odd glasses. He wants to balk, to demand an apology for daring to ask him to go to such a house as hers, but he has come to realize he doesn’t mean them. They are his father’s words, his father’s expectations. He wants so much to be able to apologize to someone for what he’s caused. He ponders this, and realizes that Harry may have a point. If Luna believes him, everyone else will. That girl never did listen to reason. Finally, he nods to Harry. “I’ll go,” he says, sounding as though he fears being overheard.

He looks outside, then back at Harry. “There’s plenty of spare rooms here. It’s way too late to try and go anywhere.”

Harry’s face goes blank, completely devoid of emotion. He nods once. Draco says nothing more, staring into the dark fireplace. After several moments, Harry gets up, grabbing an overnight bag that he left by the front door as he heads back to the bedrooms. Draco doesn’t move, staying in the chair for a little over an hour, listening to Harry moving around in one of the bedrooms. He doesn’t understand the thoughts that are swirling in his head. Why does he care what they think? Why is he so captivated by the depth of one pair of green eyes? He sighs heavily, running his hand through his hair before rising and heading back to one of the deepest bedrooms, away from the main portion of the house. He settles quickly into bed, though sleep is long in coming.


	3. Headed Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to make a side trip. What is the Boy Who Lived up to?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Standard Disclaimer: I do not own any of this. All characters are the property of Signora Rowling. I did make up the pub they went to, but that's all. I don't make money from any of this, either. 
> 
> Also, Comments are always welcome, so long as they are constructive. I'm always looking to improve my writing, and input is always appreciated. I hope you're all enjoying the story so far, and the good stuff will come in due time ;)

He sleeps late the next morning, having no one to wake him. He lay still, eyes closed, listening to the bacon sizzling downstairs. He smiles, remembering how much he loved bacon and eggs in the morning. His smile disappears in the blink of an eye; no one is supposed to be here, much less cooking! He jumps out of bed, still in his green and gold striped pajamas and runs into the kitchen, wand in hand and a hex on his lips. He stops, seeing Harry standing at the stove, hair still dripping from a shower as he pulls another batch of bacon off, sizzling and ready to eat.

Harry looks up, giving Draco a sideways smirk as he looks him over. “Nice. Do you want to eat first or get dressed?”

Draco feels his face flame, no doubt darker than the red sweater Harry wears. He dips his head, muttering about proper clothes as he returns to his room. His shower is quick, but he takes his time putting on his black slacks. He decides to forgo the dark grey or black shirts he’s preferred lately for a starched white button up shirt, and a black cardigan over a steel grey tie, unaware that it perfectly matches his eyes.

Sighing, he braces himself before returning to the kitchen, where Harry has just finished scrambling eggs and is pulling biscuits out of the oven. Harry points to the small dining table, where two plates sit, already covered in food. Draco moves slowly, sitting down in front of one of the plates. Harry joins him a moment later, the biscuits stacked in a small basket and still steaming nicely. They both ate in silence, Draco studiously ignoring the little drops of water sliding slowly down the side of Harry’s neck from his still-wet hair. He eats slowly, as he had always been taught. Harry was finished well before him, having moved pretty quickly through his food. Draco wonders why, but doesn’t know if he should ask.

It tears at him until Harry speaks from the sink. “What’s bothering you?” he asks. 

Draco starts, surprised that he could ask such a brazen question so calmly. They were enemies. He is torn, but can’t seem to help but answer. “I was wondering why you eat so quickly,” he finally responds.

He looks up to see sadness and perhaps a bit of resignation flash across Harry’s face before the other replies, “My aunt and uncle hated that I wasn’t normal, and used to ground me, forbidding me food. When I did eat, they never stopped my cousin from cleaning his plate and the rest of mine. I learned to eat as much as possible as fast as possible.” He shrugged, the last sentence spoken as he turned back to the kitchen, cleaning up the dishes as though this were perfectly normal.

His admission, though the incident is long past, makes Draco angry. How dare they deny him food? He sits at the table, staring down at his empty plate, unaware that his wand is back in his hand until it begins to spark. He jumps, tucking the wand back under his cardigan before Harry notices. Harry points his own wand over his shoulder, making Draco freeze until his plate and fork lift off the table and float to the sink. He huffs in silent relief as Harry finishes the dishes and begins to dry his hands.

He remains in his chair until Harry turns around again. “I need to stop at a nearby pub and send off a couple owls. Should I take the Knight Bus or can I Apparate?” he asks.

Draco thinks for a moment, making up his mind. “Let me pack up my bag. I’ll go with you. We’ll have to step outside to Apparate,” he says, tense until Harry nods in agreement and returns to his room, likely to pack his own things.

Draco enters his room and waves his wand, setting everything to pack itself. He doesn’t want to pack it all by hand, as he usually does. For once, he doesn’t have all the time he could have ever ask for. He takes one last look around before picking up the bag and walking towards the front door, catching Harry coming out of a bedroom nearer the front. He closes himself off, carefully not thinking about standing within throwing distance of the bed Harry slept in last night, and the question that rose about what, if anything, Harry slept in beneath the sheets.

Harry merely nods at him and turns for the door, brow furrowed at the rather intense stare Draco was giving him. Draco follows Harry silently, warring with himself. He hates his thoughts, hates that he thinks these things of his long-time nemesis. He opens the door without a word, as they cannot Apparate within the house. Harry steps out after him, just as silent, though Draco suspects that Harry was smirking at his sullen attitude.

Draco waits until the door is closed and locked to ask where they’re going. “A little pub called the Twisted Hourglass,” Harry replies. Draco merely nods, knowing the place.

He Apparates first, landing right outside the back door. The alley was spelled to provide cover and to keep Muggles from wandering along while wizards Apparated in and out, though this pub isn’t nearly so popular a place as the Leaky Cauldron. He steps back as Harry pops in right next to him and walks in first. Harry doesn’t hesitate, nodding once at the bartender before slipping into the back. Draco follows, head up. The bartender pays him no mind. Once at the back, Harry pulls three letters out and Draco watches curiously. He expects one of the names, seeing Weasley and Granger….no, just Weasley, it seems. So they got married, eh? He gives it to an owl and sets it out the back window, where it can gain altitude without the Muggles knowing where it came from. The second letter bears a Weasley name as well. He recognizes Arthur’s name from his father’s Ministry work. Again, no surprise as the owl takes flight. It is the name on the third letter that shocks Draco. Why is Harry Potter, the Savior sending a letter to the Dolohov family? Draco doesn’t have long to ponder it as the third and final owl takes flight.

Harry turns, obviously finished with his errand. They walk back out to the front area without a word, though the silence wasn’t nearly as strained as one would expect, each clearly lost within their own thoughts. Draco decides to leave alone what he wasn’t supposed to see. He has been good at that for a very long time, after all.

They slip out the side door, back into the alley, and head down far enough from the door to be out of the way of others who may appear. He turns to Harry once they’re far enough down to be completely out of sight. “So where does Loony – ah, I mean Luna live?” Draco asks.

Harry pauses before huffing a laugh. “That’s right. You’ve never been to the Lovegood’s house,” he says. Draco shakes his head, and Harry smiles, holding out his hand. “I’ll have to Apparate with you, then,” Harry says, sounding far too calm about it for Draco’s comfort.

Draco merely stares at the hand for a long minute, torn between excitement at having to hold Harry’s hand and disgust with himself for being so excited. Finally he takes the offered hand, his face devoid of emotion and his shoulders stiff. Harry tilts his head, pulling Draco’s hand playfully. Draco steps forward in an attempt to maintain his balance, and now they’re chest-to-chest and so close to each other that Draco can smell the distinct sweetness that is entirely Potter. His breath hitches, and Harry’s bright green eyes sparkle as they Apparate away.


End file.
